Beep
by SweetCrimsonLullaby
Summary: Reaper isn't sure where he is, but he knows that things are not normal. There's a face he isn't really planning on seeing (yet), memories he isn't really ready for (ever), and (way, WAY) too many feelings. Rage has been fueling him, guiding him. But maybe the betrayal isn't really a betrayal, and maybe there's some hope left for the embodiment of death.


I make no money from this fiction.

There is some swearing.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

As Reaper slowly came to, the first thing he became aware of was the beeping.

Beep.

Next, he became aware of the fact that he wasn't in pain.

Beep.

He actually felt quite well-rested for once.

Beep.

And he couldn't move.

Beep.

None of that was normal.

Beep.

He'd trained too readily give up an advantage like surprise, so he kept his breathing even and stretched out his awareness as far as he could, searching out hints and clues from his environment. His body was largely unresponsive - he could get some twitching in his left arm, and he was breathing fine, but he couldn't get any other part of his body to move or respond in the smallest way. Moving on from that effort, he refocused and listened to the environment. A moment of listening and around the beeping he became aware of an irregular clicking sound like a pen, and steady, even breathing - not of someone asleep, but perhaps someone relaxed or at ease. Hn, fool would soon learn the error of thinking they were safe around someone like him.

Beep.

Reaper's brain worked rapidly as he linked clues together. The bright light in the room (his mask was absent, he noted), the steady beeping in time with his heart - he was guessing he was in some kind of clinic or hospital. He absently noted that the clicking of the pen was growing more frequent, as well as closer. He felt a twitch in his forehead - it reminded him of _her._ All those times he'd woken up in the hospital after a mission with her nearby, clicking a pen to an irregular rhythm until he swore he'd woken up from sheer annoyance. He recalled the visible relief in her face that he'd woken up his normal grumpy self, the warmth of her whenever she'd settled on the cot next to him, the reassurance of her hand on his face, smoothing over the grain of the beard that had inevitably gone unmaintained…

A familiar scent abruptly tickled his nose, and the clicking was now coming from immediately next to him. Stirred by old memories and frustration, Reaper's lip curled up and he opened his eyes - locking onto _very_ familiar blue eyes.

Beep.

Dr. Angela Ziegler was watching him in silence, right arm wrapped around her middle, left arm crossed across her chest, hand resting on her right shoulder, holding the offending pen in a loose fist. She'd tucked her chin down, partially concealed by her wrist, so that she was looking down at him. She looked… Well, she looked pretty much the same. Clear blue eyes, blonde hair pulled into a messy bun like she did when she'd been working on something particularly vexing. Unable to move, Reaper allowed himself time to study her face longer than he had in literally years. He'd heard many comments about how the good doctor never really seemed to age, but he'd known her too long, was too familiar with her face not to notice the fine lines around her eyes, around her mouth, or the worry lines between her eyebrows. He'd even swear that the circles under her eyes were darker, more heavily lined. She must be busy with one hell of a project, judging by the color underneath.

She was still staring at him, eyes traveling over his face, down his torso, back up to his face, flicking between his eyes, and back again to repeat the circuit. In the past, he'd probably have found her quiet analysis uncomfortable, but right here and now - he just felt angry, nostalgia and the rapidly growing frustration with his immobility bringing his blood to a slow, low boil. And of course it was _her_ , why the fuck wouldn't it be?

"What do you want, doc?" he snarled finally, lip curling in disgust as he locked eyes with her, silently challenging her to meet his gaze. She curled into herself a little bit smaller, just a fraction - he doubted many others would have noticed it. But she met his gaze evenly, with no sign of flinching in her face.

"I want to help," her voice was soft, but steady. He stared at her.

Beep.

Beep-beep.

Beepbeepbeep.

"Help!?" he roared, shock, and rage twisting the sound erupting from him into something hideous and grating. "You want to help!? What, like you did before!?" Abruptly, he was emitting a strange, roaring laughter and his breath was heaving raggedly from his chest. He felt, perhaps, a touch unhinged. Really though, who could blame him considering the circumstances? The doctor watched his outburst in silence, her face impassive, and a small part of him was glad that he couldn't move, because he definitely would have had to wrap a hand around that skinny little neck. If nothing else, to see her face change. Abruptly the thought of watching that milky skin change to a muddy red-blue-purple snapped into his mind's eye, clear as a photo. His laughter cut off in the same moment, and he physically swallowed down the swell of feelings.

Only the rage. He must hold onto the rage.

Beep.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, doc?" His tone shift was abruptly calm. But there was bite to it, a bite he knew she would recognize as his temper control being on its last leg. How dare she? This was her fault. And she'd never shown remorse, so why on earth should he think she'd have any interest in helping him. She stared at him again, silent.

Beep.

Beep.

And suddenly she sat down hard on the cot next to him, absently tucking the pen up into the mess of her hair. He could feel her body heat on his hip - a realization that made him realize he was _feeling_ things again, and wasn't that a delightful first step towards moving? His observation didn't distract him from watching her as she rocked forward, arms wrapping tightly around herself. She wouldn't look at him anymore, and a part of him was frustrated that he couldn't read her face like this.

Not that there would be much to read. Not like she cared. Probably why she turned away, anyways. So she wouldn't give herself away.

Beep.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Gabriel. I… there is no excuse for what I did. I made a mistake - and my mistake hurt you. I…" _She_ is crying. He can hear it in her voice. Once upon a time, he'd have moved worlds to make it stop. But that was a lifetime ago. That doesn't stop the sound from ripping through him now, urging an almost visceral response to that familiar, hiccuping sniffle. He watches her fingers digging into her upper arms, watches the tremors travel through her narrow frame as she struggles to regain control of the emotions that are almost leaking off of her. Reaper struggles to control his own. She's faking. This isn't real.

Rage. Focus on the Rage.

Beep.

"I don't mean to say that I regret saving you - never, never could I regret saving you… But you've suffered so much because I was selfish and-" Her head tilts just slightly, she's looking at him out of her peripheral vision. She's trying to gauge his reaction. But Reyes before was always able to hide his feelings, keep emotions from his face, and Reaper now would put that man to shame. So he waits in silence, and tries to remember to focus on the Rage.

Beep.

Beep.

She straightens suddenly, uncurls from herself. She scrubs her hands roughly across her face, coughs twice, and twists to face him.

"I apologize, Reyes, you don't need my emotions." She swallows hard. He's oddly fascinated by the motion of her throat, thinks again about wrapping his hands around her neck. Stomps down the mixed emotions at the thought of her lips turning blue. "And apologies will do nothing to fix your current situation," she continues, oblivious to the thoughts in his head. "Instead, let me speak to you about why you are here." He glances back up at her eyes, wiggles his left foot, then his right. He's almost certain he could overpower her now, that he has enough motion and strength back… but he'll admit that he's curious. And he's long since realized that he's in her private lab. He has nothing but time here. No one has ever been allowed in here - no one else is around who would breach those rules, not since he's already in here. Not since he's Reaper, not Gabriel Reyes.

So he waits.

"In short, Reyes-"

"Reaper," he corrects this time. She narrows her eyes slightly, and he smirks back, though there is no mirth in his eyes.

"In short, _Reyes_ ," she repeats. His eyes narrow, but he doesn't feel like fighting her. Yet. "I can cure you."

Reaper's brain comes to a full stop.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Slowly, slowly he allows his brain to start running again. He raises an eyebrow at her, a silent invitation to go on. She knows his signals, remembers this face, and so she offers him a shaky smile and continues. She explains about reversal, a new burst of nanobots to counteract and stabilize her mistake before. She explains that it wouldn't be a complete fix - but she could help with the pain, with decaying and rebuilding all in the same moment, that he could survive without feeding off of others - she's already sold him on it. At first.

Then he remembers who she is. He remembers what she's done and just _who he is_ right now and it's _all her fault_. Every moment of the pain that used to almost tear his mind apart as his body falls apart and rebuilds again so quickly that it just leaves him vaguely out of focus to the human eye - a trait that leaves all around him vaguely uncomfortable with his existence, not helped by his need for the energy from bodies, not helped by rasping depth of his voice. When was the last time someone hadn't been afraid of him? When was the last time he'd been at ease? And it's ALL. HER. FAULT. It was her fault that he was hunting Overwatch - it was her own fault that he was saving her for last. She knew that. He'd told her that three days after she'd realized that Reaper had once been Reyes. He'd snuck into her house, into her room. He'd spoken to her, and when she'd asked if he was going to kill her for what she'd done…

"No, _Mercy_ ," he'd spat the word with all of the disgust he'd felt for it. "I'm going to kill everyone you love for what you've done." A beat of his heart, two, as she stared at him with dawning horror as what he'd said sunk in. He'd gone wraith, and whisp'ed himself around her, his face next to her ear.

"But don't worry sweetheart, I'll do you a favor in the end, and I'll kill you.

Because once upon a time, I loved you."

| * |

"You look suspicious," she says suddenly, tipping her head to meet his gaze. He realizes that in his reflection, his attention and his gaze has drifted. Here those clear blue eyes are again, flicking back and forth between his, and she is chewing her lip anxiously.

"What's the catch?"

Beep.

"What?"

"What's the catch, doc? There's no way you're just doing this out of the kindness of your heart. After all, I'm the one that blew up Overwatch." She stares at him, and her mouth has actually fallen open. He thinks that's a pretty funny look for the doctor. He thinks about laughing.

Beep.

He doesn't laugh.

Beep.

She has collapsed again, a slow deflation into herself. Her arms are wrapped around her middle again, hands worrying at the fabric of her sleeves. He notices for the first time that she is shivering slightly. Her eyes are watery. Probably from her crying earlier. He pretends that he doesn't notice. That he doesn't care. He waits.

Beep.

"I, I knew that you were responsible for the bombing," she whispers. Reaper is not surprised. She has always been a smart girl. She stops, licks her lips. "I want to say that the catch is you have to leave Talon, or that you have to atone for all the people that you've killed, or that you have to come back to Overwatch," He snorts at this, and the corner of her mouth ticks upright for a fraction of second before falling back into place. "Or I want to say that you have to give up your hunt of Overwatch." He recognizes that sad, forlorn expression on her face now is the one where most of the lines etched into her pale skin have come from. For a moment she looks like she might plead with him on this point, but she never even opens her mouth. She simply exhales a little louder than normal, and stares down for a moment, visibly collecting her thoughts.

Beep.

 _Perhaps she does have remorse_ a small part of him whispers. He stamps it down, hard.

"But, really…" she shifts, unwinds her left arm and places her palm lightly on his cheek. There is nothing to read in her face now except for heartbreak and sorrow, and there is tenderness as she strokes her thumb lightly over the skin stretched tight over his bony face. "Really Gabriel, all I want is for you to _live_ again. And I have no right to ask anything of you. You are right, this," She waves her other hand absently, indicating the rest of him, "This is my fault."

She strokes her thumb twice more, and something in Reaper… _shifts_. God, he's missed this, he has missed _her_. But he cannot allow that. He cannot. There is too much hurt, too much betrayal… She drops her hand to the cot, her eyes following as she smooths out a non-existent wrinkle on the pillow that his head is resting on. An absent-minded habit he remembers from days past. She is thinking about something, chewing on her lip and pointedly not looking at him, probably so he won't read it in her face. So he waits. He has nothing but time.

Beep.

Beep.

She shifts again and leans down, lightly pressing her lips to his forehead.

Gabriel's brain comes to a full stop.

"I have missed you, Gabe, more than I could say. I've hurt you so much… And you are the one I have always loved most of all, mein schatz." She is murmuring it quietly, lips tickling his forehead. She presses her lips against the skin of his forehead once more, and leans back, trying to casually wipe away the moisture gathering in her eyes again as she moves away from him.

Something in Gabriel, in Reaper. No, Gabriel, ignites.

Beep.

Something he hasn't felt in nearly a decade. Heat - not of rage, but the kind of heat that only one Dr. Angela Ziegler has ever been able to inspire in him.

Beep.

Not passion, or lust, but something above and beyond.

Beep. Beep.

Something that had twisted from a warm ember to a cold burn that had eaten him alive, starting with Morrison's crossing him and culminating in Angela's betrayal.

Beep. Beep.

Or had it been a betrayal?

Beep. Beep.

Was it really a mistake?

Beep. Beep.

And suddenly, he is able to believe her - that it was an accident, a horrible mistake, brought on by her grief and panic in seeing him, finding him - when she was sure he'd been dead. In a moment he is in her shoes, seeing her a broken and bleeding mess, and he knows that had their positions been switched, he'd have done the same. Just imaging her face from muddled from asphyxiation triggered that panic - that desire to protect. He cannot fathom being faced with that reality, not truly.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

In a moment - the betrayal gives way. The fire of the rage goes out, and Gabriel can do nothing but _feel_. The terrible loneliness, the hurt, the longing. Missing her touch, her face, her voice, her love. And here she is. Here. Now. And he cannot focus on anything else - even the fact that he could be CURED fades into the background as the rush of feelings careens around inside of his mind and leaves him feeling heady, rushed, overwhelmed, and burdened and so much lighter, all at once.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Gabriel's brain comes to a full stop.

BeepBeepBeepBeep

The doctor is turning, alarmed by the sudden increase in his heart rate from the monitor, but he's already three quarters of the way upright and wrapping a thick arm around her narrow waist while the other hand buries itself in the wild mess of her hair. A distant part of his brain registers the pen against his finger, the tap-tap as it hits the floor while his fingers move to occupy the space in her hair. She lets out a small squeak as he crushes her comparatively diminutive frame against his, but she doesn't fight him when he crushes his mouth to hers. His kiss is clumsy, almost violent in the rush of feelings.

There isn't time for another beep before she's returning the kiss, with all of the enthusiasm and all of the same clumsiness.

AN: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this little blurb. It has been a very, very long time since I've posted on FF. It popped into my head pretty much in its entirety after seeing some comics, images, and theories that suggested that Mercy might be responsible for Reaper's condition. I think that this is shallower emotionally than the real situation might be, but I just wanted to flex my writing muscles a little bit and have some fun. I recognize that it ends abruptly, but I rather like it like that, and I think it got my story across that I wanted to tell. Originally, I didn't really like this pairing... but it growing on me, slowly but surely.

*Schatz=treasure, German term of endearment., at least according to what the internet told me.


End file.
